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DR. JOHN P.ROWN. 














Rab and 

His Friends 


By Dr. John 
Brown 


Philadelphia 

Henry Altemus Company 


' ^ zO 


Copyright 1909 by Howard E. Altemus 


Cl. * 2 4 ?/ S B 4 

AUa 25 1909 


RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 







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Rab and his Friends. 


Four-and-thirty years ago, Bob Ains- 
lie and I were coming up Infirmary 
Street from the Edinburgh High School 
our heads together, and our arms inter- 
twisted, as only lovers and boys know 
how, or why. 

When we got to the top of the street, 
and turned north, we espied a crowd 
at the Tron Church. ‘ ‘ A dog-fight ! ” 
shouted Bob, and was off ; and so was I, 
both of us all but praying that it might 
not be over before we got up I And 
is not this boy-nature? and human 
nature too ? and don't we all wish a 
house on fire not to be out before we 
see it ? Dogs like fighting ; old Isaac 

5 


6 


IRab anb bis J'rienDs. 


says they ‘‘delight’" in it, and for 
the best of all reasons ; and boys are 
not cruel because they like to see the 
fight. They see three of the great car- 
dinal virtues of dog or man — courage, 
endurance, and skill — in intense ac- 
tion. This is very different from a 
love of making dogs fight, and enjoy- 
ing, and aggravating, and making gain 
by their pluck. A boy, be he ever so 
fond himself of fighting, if he be a 
good boy, hates and despises all this, 
but he would have run off with Boll 
and me fast enough : it is a natural, 
and a not wicked interest, that all 
boys and men have in witnessing 
intense energy in action. 

Does any curious and finely Igno- 
rant woman wish to know how Bob’s 
eye at a glance announced a dog-fight 
to his brain ? He did not, he could 
not see the dogs fighting ; it was a flash 
of an inference, a rapid induction. 


TRaD anD bis 3frienbs* T 

The crowd round a couple of dogs 
fighting is a crowd masculine mainly, 
with an occasional active, compassion- 
ate woman, fluttering wildly round 
the outside, and using her tongue and 
her hands freely upon the men, as 
so many ‘ ‘ brutes ; it is a crowd 
annular, compact, and mobile ; a crowd 
centripetal, having its eyes and its 
heads all bent downwards and inwards, 
to one common focus. 

Well, Bob and I are up, and find it 
is not over : a small, thoroughbred, 
white bull-terrier is busy throttling a 
large shepherd’s dog, unaccustomed to 
war, but not to be trifled with. They 
are hard at it ; the scientific little 
fellow doing his work in great style, 
his pastoral enemy fighting wildly, but 
with the sharpest of teeth and a great 
courage. Science and breeding, how- 
ever, soon had their own ; the Game 
Chicken, as the premature Bob called 


8 


IRab anD bis JfrienDs. 


him, working his way up, took his fina) 
grip of poor Yarrow’s throat, — and he 
lay gasping and done for. His master, 
a brown, handsome, big young shep- 
herd from Tweedsmuir, would have 
liked to have knocked down any man, 
would “ drink up Esil, or eat a croco- 
dile,” for that part, if he had a chance : 
it was no use kicking the little dog ; 
that would only make him hold the 
closer. Many were the means shouted 
out in mouthfuls, of the best possible 
ways of ending it. ** Water ! ” but 
there was none near, and many cried 
for it who might have got it from the 
well at Blackfriars Wynd. “ Bite the 
tail I ” and a large, vague, benevolent 
middle-aged man, more desirous than 
wise, with some struggle got the 
bushy end of Farrow’s tail into his 
ample mouth, and bit it with all his 
might This was more than enough 
for the much-enduring, much-perspiring 


TRab anD W6 3frienD6. 9 

shepherd, who, with a gleam of joy 
over his broad visage, delivered a 
terrific facer upon our large, vague, 
benevolent, middle-aged friend, — who 
went down like a shot. 

Still the Chicken holds ; death not 
far off. ‘‘Snuff! a pinch of snuff!” 
observed a calm, highly-dressed young 
buck, with an eye-glass in his eye. 
“Snuff, indeed!” growled the angry 
crowd, affronted and glaring. “Snuff! 
a pinch of snuff ! ” again observes the 
buck, but with more urgency ; whereon 
were produced several open boxes, and 
from a mull which may have been at 
Culloden, he took a pinch, knelt down, 
and presented it to the nose of the 
Chicken. The laws of physiology and 
of snuff take their course ; the Chicken 
iineezes, and Yarrow is free I 

The young pastoral giant stalks off 
with Yarrow in his arms, — comforting 
him. 


10 


1Rab anO bis 


But the Bull Terrier’s blood is up, 
and his soul unsatisfied ; he grips the 
first dog he meets, and discovering she 
is not a dog, in Homeric phrase, he 
makes a brief sort of amende, and is 
off The boys, with Bob and me at 
their head, are after him : down Niddry 
Street he goes, bent on mischief ; up 
the Cowgate like an arrow, — Bob and 
I, and our small men, panting behind. 

There under the single arch of the 
South Bridge, is a huge mastiff, saun- 
tering down the middle of the cause- 
way, as if with his hands in his 
pockets : he is old, gray, brindled, as 
big as a little Highland bull, and has 
the Shakespearian dewlaps shaking as 
he goes. 

The Chicken makes straight at him, 
and fastens on his throat. To our as- 
tonishment, the great creature does 
nothing but stand still, hold himself 
up, and roar, — yes, roar ; a long, seri- 


IRab auD bi6 iFrlcnDs. 


11 


ous, remonstrative roar. How is this ? 
Bob and I are up to them. He is muz* 
zledl The bailies had proclaimed a 
general muzzling, and his master study- 
ing strength and economy mainly, 
had encompassed his huge jaws in a 
home-made apparatus, constructed out 
of the leather of some ancient hreechin. 
His mouth was open as far it could ; 
his lips curled up in rage, — a sort ot 
terrible grin ; his teeth gleaming, 
ready, from out the darkness ; the 
strap across his mouth tense as a bow« 
string ; his whole frame stiff with in- 
dignation and surprise ; his roar ask- 
ing us all round, “Did you ever see 
the like of this ? " He looked a statue 
of anger and astonishment, done in 
Aberdeen granite. 

We soon had a crowd : the Chicken 
held on. “A knife I” cried Bob ; and 
a cobbler gave him his knife : you 
know the kind of knife, worn away 


12 


IRab anD bis Jfrlcnos. 


obliquely to a point and always keen. 
I put its edge to the tense leather ; it 
ran before it ; and then ! — one sudden 
jerk of that enormous head a sort of 
dirty mist about his mouth, no noise, 
— and the bright and fierce little fellow 
is dropped, limp and dead. A solemn 
pause : this was more than any of us 
had bargained for. I turned the little 
fellow over, and saw he was quite 
dead ; the mastiff had taken him by 
the small of the back like a rat, and 
broken it. 

He looked down at his victim 
appeased, ashamed, and amazed ; 
snuffed him all over, stared at him, 
and taking a sudden thought, turned 
round and trotted off. Bob took the 
dead dog up, and said, ‘*John, well 
bury him after tea.” *‘Yes,” said I, 
and was off after the mastiff. He 
made up the Cowgate at a rapid 
swing ; he had forgotten some engage* 


TRa() anD bis 3FricnD6. 


13 


merit. He turned up the Candlemaker 
Row, and stopped at the Harrow Inn. 

There was a carrier’s cart ready to 
start, and a keen, thin, impatient, 
black-a-vised little man, his hand at 
his gray horse’s head, looking about 
angrily for something. 

“ Rab, ye thief!” said he, aiming 
a kick at my great friend, who drew 
cringing up, and avoiding the heavy 
shoe with more agility than dignity, 
and watching his master’s eye, slunk 
dismayed under the cart, — his ears 
down, and as much as he had of tail 
down too. 

What a man this must be, — thought 
I, — to whom my tremendous hero 
turns tail ! The carrier saw the muz- 
zle hanging, cut and useless, from his 
neck,- and I eagerly told him the story, 
which Bob and I always thought, and 
still think, Homer, or King David, or 
Sir Walter alone, were worthy to re* 


14 IRab anD bte 3frtcnD6. 

hearse. The severe little man was 
mitigated, and condescended to say, 
‘‘Rab, my man, puirRabbie," — where- 
upon the stump of a tail rose up, the 
ears were cocked, the eyes filled, and 
were comforted ; the two friends were 
reconciled. “Hupp!"' and a stroke 
of the whip were given to Jess; and 
off went the three. 

Bob and I buried the Game Chicken 
that night (we had not much of a tea) 
in the back-green of his house in Mel- 
ville Street, No. 17, with considerable 
gravity and silence ; and being at the 
time in the Iliad, and, like all boys, 
Trojans, we called him Hector, of 
course. 


Six years have passed, — a long time 
for a boy and a dog ; Bob Ainslie is 
off to the wars ; I am a medical 


IRab anb bis 3frfenb6. 


15 


student, and clerk at Minto House 
Hospital. Rab I saw almost every 
week, on the Wednesday ; and we 
had much pleasant intimacy. I found 
the way to his heart by frequent 
scratching of his huge head, and an 
occasional bone. When I did not 
notice him he would plant himself 
straight before me, and stand wagging 
that bud of a tail, and looking up, with 
his head a little to the one side. His 
master I occasionally saw ; he used 
to call me ‘‘Maister John,” but was 
laconic as any Spartan. 

One fine October afternoon, I was 
leaving the hospital, when I saw the 
large gate open, and in walked Rab, 
with that great and easy saunter of 
his. He looked as if taking general 
possession of the place ; like the Duke 
of Wellington entering a subdued city, 
satiated with victory and peace. After 
him came Jess, now white from age, x 


I 


16 


IRab anD b(0 ^fricnDe. 


with her cart ; and in it a woman, care- 
fully wrapped up, — the carrier leading 
the horse anxiously, and looking back. 
When he saw me, James (for his name 
was James Noble) made a curt and 
grotesque “boo,” and said, “Maister 
John, this is the mistress ; she’s got 
trouble in her breest, — some kind o’ an 
income we’re thinkin’.” 

By this time I saw the woman’s face ; 
she was sitting on a sack filled with 
straw, her husband’s plaid round her, 
and his big-coat, with its large white 
metal buttons, over her feet. 

1 never saw a more unforgetable face, 
—pale, serious, lonely, * delicate, sweet, 
without being at all what we call fine. 
She looked sixty, and had on a mutch, 
white as snow, with its black ribbon ; 
her silvery, smooth hair setting off her 

♦ It is not easy giving this look by one word ,• 
it was expressive of her being so much of her 
life alone. 


IRab anD bis jfricnDs. 


17 


dark-gray eyes, — eyes such as one sees 
only twice or thrice in a lifetime, full 
of suffering, full also of the overcoming 
of it : her eyebrows black and del- 
icate, and her mouth firm, patient, and 
contented, which few mouths ever 
are. 

As I have said, I never saw a more 
beautiful countenance, or one more 
subdued to settled quiet. ‘ ^ Ailie, ” said 
James, “ this is Maister John, the young 
doctor ; Rab s freend, ye ken. We 
often speak aboot you, doctor.” She 
smiled, and made a movement, but 
said nothing ; and prepared to come 
down, putting her plaid aside and rising. 
Had Solomon, in all his glory, been 
handing down the Queen of Sheba at 
his palace gate, he could not have done 
it more daintily, more tenderly, more 
like a gentleman, than did James the 
Howgate carrier, when he lifted down 
Ailie his wife. The contrast of his 

Rab— 2 


18 


TRab anD bi6 3frien06. 


small, swarthy, weather-beaten, keen, 
worldly face to hers — pale, subdued, 
and beautiful — was something wonder- 
ful. Rab looked on concerned and 
puzzled, but ready for anything that 
might turn up, — were it to strangle the 
nurse, the porter, or even me. Ailie 
and he seemed great friends. 

As I was sayin', she’s got a kind 
o^ trouble in her breest, doctor; wull 
ye tak’ a look at it ? ” We walked into 
the consulting-room, all four ; Rab 
grim and comic, willing to be happy 
and confidential if cause could be 
shown, willing also to be the reverse, 
on the same terms. Ailie sat down, 
undid her open gown and her lawn 
handkerchief round her neck, and with- 
out a word showed me her right breast. 
I looked at and examined it carefully, 
— she and James watching me, and 
Rab eying all three. What could I 
say? there it was, that had once been 


IRab anO bis ^fticnbs. 


19 


so soft, so shapely, so white, so gra- 
cious and bountiful, so “ full of all 
blessed conditions,” — hard as a stone, 
a centre of horrid pain, making that 
pale face, with its gray, lucid, reason- 
able eyes, and its sweet, resolved 
mouth, express the full measure of 
suffering overcome. Why was that 
gentle, modest, sweet woman, clean 
and lovable, condemned by God to 
bear such a burden ? 

I got her away to bed. “ May Rab 
and me bide?” said James. “You 
may; and Rab, if he will behave him- 
self.” I’se warrant he ’s do that, 
doctor ” ; and in slank the faithful 
beast. I wish you could have seen 
him. There are no such dogs now. 
He belonged to a lost tribe. As I have 
said, he was brindled and gray like 
Rubislaw granite ; his hair short, hard, 
and close, like a lion’s ; his body thick- 
set, like a little bull, — a sort of com- 


20 


IRab anD bie jPdcnDa. 


pressed Hercules of a dog. He must 
have been ninety pounds’ weight, at 
the least ; he had a large blunt head ; 
his muzzle black as night, his mouth 
blacker than any night, a tooth or two 
—being all he had — gleaming out of 
his jaws of darkness. His head was 
scarred with the records of old wounds, 
a sort of series of fields of battle all 
over it ; one eye out, one ear cropped 
as close as was Archbishop Leighton’s 
father’s ; the remaining eye had the 
power of two ; and above it, and in 
constant communication with it, was a 
tattered rag of an ear, which was for- 
ever unfurling itself, like an old flag ; 
and then that bud of a tail, about one 
inch long, if it could in any sense be 
said to be long, being as broad as long, 
— the mobility, the instantaneousness 
of that bud were very funny and 
surprising, and its expressive twink- 
lings and winkings, the intercommuni- 


TKaD ano bis 3fcienDc> 21 

cations between the eye, the ear, and it, 
were of the oddest and swiftest. 

Rab had the dignity and simplicity 
of great size; and having fought his 
way all along the road to absolute 
supremacy, he was as mighty in his 
own line as Julius Caesar or the Duke 
of Wellington, and had the gravity * of 
all great fighters. 

You must have often observed the 
likeness of certain men to certain 
animals, and of certain dogs to men. 
Now, I never looked at Rab without 
thinking of the great Baptist preacher, 
Andrew Fuller, "j* The same large, 

* A Highland game-keeper, when asked why 
a certain terrier, of singular pluck, was so much 
more solemn than the other dogs, said, “ O, sir, 
life 's full o’ sairiousness to him, — he just never 
can get enuff o’ fechtin’.” 

t Fuller was, in early life, when a farmer lad 
at Soham, famous as a boxer ; not quarrelsome, 
but not without “ the stern delight ” a man ot 
strength and courage feels in their exercise. Dr. 




TRab anD bis ^frienos. 


heavy, menacing, combative, sombre, 
honest countenance, the same deep 
inevitable eye, the same look, — as of 
thunder asleep, but ready, — neither a 
dog nor a man to be trifled -with. 

Next day, my master, the surgeon, 
examined Ailie. There was no doubt 
it must kill her, and soon. It could 
be removed — it might never return — it 
would give her speedy relief — she 
should have it done. She courtesied, 

Charles Stewart, of Dunearn, whose rare gifts 
and graces as a physician, a divine, a scholar, 
and a gentleman live only in the memory of 
those few who knew and survive him, liked to 
tell how Mr. Fuller used to say, that when he 
was in the pulpit, and saw a huirdly man come 
along the passage, he would instinctively draw 
himself up, measure his imaginary antagonist, 
and forecast how he would deal with him, his 
hands meanwhile condensing into fists, and 
tending to “ square.” He must have been a 
hard hitter if he boxed as he preached, — what 
“ The Fancy ” would call “ an ugly cus- 
tomer.” 


TRaD anD bis jfdenDs* 


23 


looked at James, and said, “When ? 
“To-morrow,” said the kind surgeon, 
— a man of few words. She and 
James and Rab and I retired. I 
noticed that he and she spoke little, 
but seemed to anticipate everything 
in each other. The following day, at 
noon, the students came in, hurrying 
up the great stair. At the first landing- 
place, on a small, well-known black- 
board, was a bit of paper fastened by 
wafers, and many remains of old 
wafers beside it. On the paper were 
the words, — “An operation to-day. 
J. B. Clerkr 

Up ran the youths, eager to secure 
good places : in they crowded, full of 
interest and talk. “ What's the case ? ” 
“ Which side is it ? ” 

Don’t think them heartless ; they 
are neither better nor worse than you 
or I ; they get over their professional 
horrors, and into their proper work, — 


24 


TRat) anD bis ifnenDa, 


and in them pity, as an emotion, end- 
ing in itself or at best in tears and a 
long-drawn breath, lessens, while pity 
as a motive is quickened, and gains 
power and purpose. It is well foi 
poor human nature that it is so. 

The operating theatre is crowded; 
much talk and fun, and all the cor- 
diality and stir of youth. The surgeon 
with his staff of assistants is there. In 
comes Ailie : one look at her quiets 
and abates the eager students. That 
beautiful old woman is too much for 
them ; they sit down, and are dumb, 
and gaze at her. These rough boys 
feel the power of her presence. She 
walks in quickly, but without haste ; 
dressed in her mutch, her neckerchief, 
her white dimity short-gown, her 
black bombazine petticoat, showing 
her white worsted stockings and her 
carpet-shoes. Behind her was James 
with Rab. James sat down in the dis- 


IRab anD bis 3frienD8. 25 

tance, and took that huge and noble 
head between his knees. Rab looked 
perplexed and dangerous ; forever 
cocking his ear and dropping it as fast 
Ailie stepped up on a seat, and laid 
herself on the table, as her friend the 
surgeon told her ; arranged herself, 
gave a rapid look at James, shut her 
eyes, rested herself on me, and took 
my hand. The operation was at once 
begun ; it was necessarily slow ; and 
chloroform — one of God’s best gifts tc 
his suffering children— was then uiv 
known. The surgeon did his work. 
The pale face showed its pain, but 
was still and silent. Rab’s soul was 
working within him ; he saw that 
something strange was going on, — 
blood flowing from his mistress, and 
she suffering ; his ragged ear was up, 
and importunate ; he growled, and 
gave now and then a sharp, impatient 
yelp ; he would have liked to have 


20 TRab anO bf6 ifrienDs. 

done something to that man. But 
James had him firm, and gave him a 
glower from time to time, and an 
intimation of a possible kick ; — all the 
better for James, it kept his eye and 
his mind off Ailie. 

It is over : . she is dressed, steps 
gently and decently down from the 
table, looks for James; then turning 
to the surgeon and the students, she 
courtesies, — and in a low, clear voice, 
begs their pardon if she has behaved 
ill. The students — all of us — wept 
like children ; the surgeon happed her 
up carefully, — and, resting on James 
and me, Ailie went to her room, Rab 
following. We put her to bed. James 
took off his heavy shoes, crammed with 
tackets, heel-capt and toe-capt, and 
put them carefully under the table say- 
ing, “ Maister John, I’m for nane o* 
yer strynge nurse bodies for Ailie. I’ll 
be her nurse, and I’ll gang aboot on 


TRab anD bis 3fcienDs. 27 

my stockin' soles as canny as pussy.” 
And so he did ; and handy and clever, 
and swift and tender as any woman, 
was that horny-handed, snell, peremp- 
tory little man. Everything she got 
he gave her : he seldom slept ; and 
often I saw his small, shrewd eyes out 
of the darkness, fixed on her. As be- 
fore, they spoke little. 

Rab behaved well, never moving, 
showing us how meek and gentle ha 
could be, and occasionally, in his 
sleep, letting us know that he was de- 
molishing some adversary. He took 
a walk with me every day, generally 
to the Candlemaker Row ; but he was 
sombre and mild ; declined doing 
battle, though some fit cases offered, 
and indeed submitted to sundry indig- 
nities ; and was always very ready to 
turn, and came faster back, and trotted 
up the stair with much lightness, and 
went straight to that door. 


28 TRab anD bf0 JfrtenDs. 

Jess, the mare, had been sent, with 
her weather-worn cart, to Howgate, 
and had doubtless her own dim and 
placid meditations and confusions, on 
the absence of her master and Rab, 
and her unnatural freedom from the 
road and her cart. 

For some days Ailie did well. The 
wound healed by the first intention ; 
for, as James said, Oor Ailie’s skin is 
ower clean to beil.’" The students 
came in quiet and anxious, and sur- 
rounded her bed. She said she liked 
to see their young, honest faces. The 
surgeon dressed her, and spoke to her 
in his own short, kind way, pitying 
her through his eyes, Rab and James 
outside the circle, — Rab being now 
reconciled, and even cordial, and hav- 
ing made up his mind that as yet 
nobody required worrying, but, as you 
may suppose, semper paratus. 

So far well : but, four days after the 


TRab anD D10 jTdenDs, 


29 


operation, my patient had a sudden and 
long shivering, a “ groosinV' as she 
called it. I saw her soon after ; her 
eyes were too bright, her cheek col- 
ored ; she was restless, and ashamed 
of being so ; the balance was lost ; 
mischief had begun. On looking at 
the wound, a blush of red told the 
secret : her pulse was rapid, her breath- 
ing anxious and quick, she was n’t 
herself, as she said, and was vexed at 
her restlessness. We tried what we 
could. James did everything, was 
everywhere ; never in the way, never 
out of it ; Rab subsided under the table 
into a dark place, and was motionless, 
all but his eye, which followed every 
one. Ailie got worse ; began to wander 
in her mind, gently ; was more demon- 
strative in her ways to James, rapid 
in her questions, and sharp at times. 
He was vexed, and said, ‘‘She was 
never that way afore ; no, never.” 


80 


TRab ano bts 3fncnD6, 


For a time she knew her head was 
wrong-, and was always asking our 
pardon, — the dear, gentle old woman : 
then delirium set in strong, without 
pause. Her brain gave way, and 
then came that terrible spectacle, — 

‘The intellectual power, through words and 
things, 

Went sounding on its dim and perilous way”; 

she sang bits of old songs and Psalms, 
stopping suddenly, mingling the 
Psalms of David and the diviner words 
of his Son and Lord with homely odds 
and ends and scraps of ballads. 

Nothing more touching, or in a sense 
more strangely beautiful, did I ever 
witness. Her tremulous, rapid, affec- 
tionate, eager Scotch voice, — the swift, 
aimless, bewildered mind, the baffled 
utterance, the bright and perilous eye ; 
some wild words, some household 
cares, something for James, the names 


IRab anD bfa 3frlenD0. 


31 


of the dead, Rab called rapidly and in a 
“ fremyt ” voice, and he starting up sur- 
prised, and slinking off as if he were to 
blame somehow, or had been dream- 
ing he heard ; many eager questions and 
beseechings which James and I could 
make nothing of, and on which she 
seemed to set her all, and then sink back 
ununderstood. It was very sad, but 
better than many things that are not 
called sad. James hovered about, put 
out and miserable, but active and exact 
as ever ; read to her, when there was 
a lull, short bits from the Psalms, prose 
and metre, chanting the latter in his 
own rude and serious way, showing 
great knowledge of the fit words, 
bearing up like a man, and doating 
over her as his “ain Ailie.” “Ailie, 
ma woman ! ” “ Ma ain bonnie wee 
dawtie ! 

The end was drawing on : the golden 
bowl was breaking ; the silver cord was 


32 


TRab anD bi6 JfrienDs. 


fast being loosed, — that animula hlan* 
dula, vagulay hospeSy comesquCy was 
about to flee. The body and the soul 
— companions for sixty years — were 
being sundered, and taking leave. She 
was walking alone through the valley 
of that shadow into which one day we 
must all enter — and yet she was not 
alone, for we know whose rod and staff 
were comforting her. 

One night she had fallen quiet, and, 
as we hoped, asleep ; her eyes were 
shut. We put down the gas, and sat 
watching her. Suddenly she sat up in 
bed, and taking a bedgown which was 
lying on it rolled up, she held it eagerly 
to her breast, — to the right side. We 
could see her eyes bright with a sur- 
prising tenderness and joy, bending 
over this bundle of clothes. She held 
it as a woman holds her sucking child ; 
opening out her nightgown impa- 
tiently, and holding it close, and brood- 


IRab anb bis JfrfenDs* 


33 


ing over it, and murmuring foolish little 
words, as over one whom his mother 
comforteth, and who sucks and is 
satisfied. It was pitiful and strange to 
see her wasted dying look, keen and 
yet vague, — her immense love. 

“Preserve me!” groaned James, 
giving way. And then she rocked back 
and forward, as if to make it sleep, 
hushing it, and wasting on it her in- 
finite fondness. “Wae’s me, doctor; 
I declare she ’s thinkin’ it ’s that bairn.” 
“ What bairn ? ” “ The only bairn we 

ever had ; our wee Mysie, and she’s in 
the Kingdom, forty years and main” 
It was plainly true : the pain in the 
breast, telling its urgent story to a be- 
wildered, ruined brain, was misread 
and mistaken ; it suggested to her the 
uneasiness of abreast full of milk, and 
then the child ; and so again once more 
they were together, and she had her 
ain wee Mysie in her bosom. 

Rab— 3 


34 TRab anD bt5 fdenbs. 

This was the dose. She sank rap- 
idly : the delirium left her ; but, as she 
whispered, she was “ clean silly ” ; it 
was the lightening before the final 
darkness. After having for some time 
lain still, her eyes shut, she said, 
‘‘ James ! ” He came close to her, 
and lifting up her calm, clear, beauti- 
ful eyes, she gave him a long look, 
turned to me kindly but shortly, looked 
for Rab but could not see him, then 
turned to her husband again, as if she 
would never leave off looking, shut 
her eyes, and composed herself. She 
lay for some time breathing quick, and 
passed away so gently, that when we 
thought she was gone, James, in his 
old-fashioned way, held the mirror to 
her face. After a long pause, one 
small spot of dimness was breathed 
out ; it vanished away, and never 
returned, leaving the blank clear dark- 
ness of the mirror without a stain. 


Kab anb bi6 35 

“ What is our life ? it is even a vapor, 
which appeareth for a little time, and 
then vanisheth away.’^ 

Rab all this time had been full awake 
and motionless ; he came forward 
beside us; Ailie’s hand, which James 
had held, was hanging down; it was 
soaked with his tears; Rab licked it 
all over carefully, looked at her, and 
returned to his place under the table. 

James and I sat, I don’t know how 
long, but for some time, — saying noth- 
ing: he started up abruptly, and with 
some noise went to the table, and 
putting his right fore and middle fingers 
each into a shoe, pulled them out, 
and put them on, breaking one of the 
leather latchets, and muttering in 
anger, '' I never did the like o’ that 
afore ! ” 

I believe he never did; nor after 
either. “ Rab ! ” he said roughly, and 
pointing with his thumb to the bottom 


36 


IRalJ anD bis 3fcienOs. 


of the bed. Rab leapt up, and settled 
himself; his head and eye to the dead 
face. “Maister John, yell wait for 
me, said the carrier ; and disappeared 
in the darkness, thundering downstairs 
in his heavy shoes. I ran to a front 
window ; there he was, already round 
the house, and out at the gate, fleeing 
like a shadow. 

I was afraid about him, and yet not 
afraid ; so I sat down beside Rab, and 
being wearied, fell asleep. I awoke 
from a sudden noise outside. It was 
November, and there had been a heavy 
fall of snow. Rab was in stain quo ; 
he heard the noise too, and plainly 
knew it, but never moved. I looked 
out ; and there, at the gate, in the dim 
morning — for the sun was not up — 
was Jess and the cart, — a cloud of steam 
rising from the old mare. I did not 
see James ; he was already at the 
door, and came up the stairs, and met 


IRaD auD bl6 jfcieuDs. 


3 T 


me. It was less than three hours since 
he left, and he must have posted out — 
who knows how? — to Howgate, full 
nine miles off, yoked Jess, and driven 
her astonished into town. He had an 
armful of blankets, and was streaming 
with perspiration. He nodded to me, 
spread out on the floor two pairs of 
clean old blankets having at their 
corners, A. G., 1794,” in large letters 
in red worsted. These were the initials 
of Alison Graeme, and James may nave 
looked in at her from without, — himself 
unseen but not unthought of, — when 
he was “wat, wat, and weary,” and 
after having walked many a mile over 
the hills, may have seen her sitting, 
while “a* the lave were sleepin’”; 
and by the firelight working her name 
on the blankets, for her ain James’s 
bed. 

He motioned Rab down, and taking 
his wife in his arms, laid her in the 


‘H^ab anD bis jfrienDs. 


blankets, and happed her carefully and 
firmly up, leaving the face uncovered ; 
and then lifting her, he nodded again 
sharply to me, and with a resolved 
but utterly miserable face strode along 
the passage, and downstairs, followed 
by Rab. I followed with a light ; but 
he did n’t need it. I went out, holding 
stupidly the candle in my hand in the 
calm frosty air ; we were soon at the 
gate. I could have helped him, but I 
saw he was not to be meddled with, 
and he was strong, and did not need 
it. He laid her down as tenderly, as 
safely, as he had lifted her out ten days 
before, — as tenderly as when he had 
her first in his arms when she was 
only “A. G.,” — sorted her, leaving 

that beautiful sealed face open to the 
heavens ; and then taking Jess by the 
head, he moved away. ' He did not 
notice me, neither did Rab, who pre- 
sided behind the cart. I stood till they 


TRab anb bis 3frienD0* 


39 


passed through the long shadow of the 
College, and turned up Nicolson Street. 
I heard the solitary cart sound through 
the streets, and die away and come 
Again ; and I returned, thinking of that 
company going up Libberton Brae, 
then along Roslin Muir, the morning 
light touching the Pentlands and mak- 
ing them like on-looking ghosts ; then 
down the hill through Auchindinny 
woods, past “haunted Woodhouse- 
lee ” ; and as daybreak came sweeping 
up the bleak Lammermuirs, and fell 
on his own door, the company would 
stop, and James would take the key, 
and lift Ailie up again, laying her on 
her own bed, and, having put Jess up, 
would return with Rab and shut the 
door. 

James buried his wife, with his neigh- 
bors mourning, Rab inspecting the sol- 
emnity from a distance. It was snow, 
and that black ragged hole would look 


40 


TRat) anD bie 3frfenD0. 


strange in the midst of the swellingspot- 
less cushion of white. James looked 
after everything ; then rather suddenly 
fell ill, and took to bed; was insen- 
sible when the doctor came, and soon 
died. A sort of low fever was prevail- 
ing in the village, and his want of sleep, 
his exhaustion, and his misery made 
him apt to take it. The grave was not 
difficult to reopen. A fresh fall of snow 
had again made all things white and 
smooth ; Rab once more looked on, and 
slunk home to the stable. 

And what of Rab ? I asked for him 
next week at the new carrier who got 
the good-will of James’s business, and 
was now master of Jess and her cart. 
“How's Rab?” He put me off, and 
said rather rudely, “ What’s busi- 
ness wi’ the dowg ? ” I was not to be 
so put off. “Where’s Rab?” He, 
getting confused and red, and inter- 


TRab anb his J^rlenbs* 41 

meddling with his hair, said, “ ’Deed, 
sir, Rab’s deid.” “ Dead ! what did he 
die of?” “ Weel, sir,” said he, getting 
redder, he didna exactly dee ; he was 
killed. I had to brain him wi’ a rack- 
pin ; there was nae doin’ wi’ him. He 
lay in the treviss wi’ the mear, and 
wadna come oot. I tempit him wi’ 
kail and meat, but he wad tak naething, 
and keepit me frae feedin’ the beast, 
and he was aye gur gurrin, and grup 
gruppin’ me by the legs. I was laith 
to make awa wi’ the auld dowg, his like 
wasna atween this and Thornhill, — ^but, 
’deed, sir, I could do naething else.” 
I believed him. Fit end for Rab, quick 
and complete. His teeth and his friends 
gone, why should he keep the peace, 
and be civil? 






THE 

MYSTERY OF BLACK AND TAN. 


The Mystery of Black and 
Tan. 


We — the the Duchess, 

the Sputchard, the Dutchard, the Rica- 
picticapic, Oz and Oz, the Maid of Lorn, 
and myself, — left Crieff some fifteen 
years ago, on a bright September 
morning, soon after daybreak, in a gig. 
It was morning, still and keen: the 
sun sending his level shafts across 
Stpathearn, and through the thin mist 
over its river hollows, to the fierce 
Aberuchil Hills, and searching out the 
dark blue shadows in the corries of 
Benvorlich. But who and how many 

45 


46 /IBi36ter^ of JBlacft auD fTan. 

are “we?" To make you as easy as 
we all were, let me tell you we were 
four ; and are not these dumb friends 
of ours persons rathers than things ? is 
not their soul ampler, as Plato would 
say, than their body, and contains 
rather than is contained ? Is not what 
lives and wills in them, and is affec- 
tionate, as spiritual, as immaterial, as 
truly removed from mere flesh, blood, 
and bones, as that soul which is the 
proper self of their master ? And when 
we look each other in the face, as I 
now look in Dick’s, who is lying in his 
“corny" by the fireside, and he in 
mine, is it not as much the dog within 
looking from out his eyes — the win- 
lows of his soul — as it is the man from 
ais ? 

The Sine Qud Non, who will not be 
pleased at being spoken of, is such an 
one as that vain-glorious and chiv- 
alrous Ulric von Hiitten — the Refor- 


of 3Blacft anD fTan. 47 


mation’s man of wit, and of the world, 
and of the sword, who slew Monkery 
with the wild laughter of his Epistolce 
Obscurorum Virorum — had in his mind 
when he wrote thus to his friend 
Fredericus Piscator (Mr. Fred. Fisher), 
on the 19th May, 1519, Da niihiuxo* 
rem^ Friderice^ et ut scias qualem, venus-‘ 
tarn, adolescentulam^ probe educatam, 
hilar em^ verecundaniy patientemd' ^'Qua* 
lent” he lets Frederic understand in 
the sentence preceding, is one qud 
cum ludam, qud jocos conferam^ amoeni* 
ores et leviusculas fabulas misceam, ubt 
sollicitudinis aciem ohtundam, curarum 
cestus miiigem” And if you would 
know more of the Sine Qud Non, and 
in English, for the world is dead to 
Latin now, you will find her name and 
nature in Shakspeare’s words, when 
King Henry the Eighth says, “go thy 
ways. ” 

The Duchess, alias all the othet 


4G ot 3Blacft anO ^an* 

names till you come 'to the Maid of 
Lorn, is a rough, gnarled, incompar- 
able little bit of a terrier, three parts 
Dandie-Dinmont,and one part — chiefly 
in tail and hair — cocker: her father 
being Lord Rutherfurd’s famous 
“Dandie,” and her mother the daughter 
of a Skye, and a light-hearted Cocker. 
The Duchess is about the size and 
weight of a rabbit; but has a soul as 
big, as fierce, and as faithful as had 
Meg Merrilies, with a nose as black as 
Topsy’s; and is herself every bit as 
game and queer as that delicious imp 
of darkness and of Mrs. Stowe. Her 
legs set her long slim body about two 
inches and a half from the ground, 
making her very like a huge caterpillar 
or hairy oobit — her two eyes, dark and 
full, and her shining nose, being all of 
her that seems anything but hair. 
Her tail was a sort of stump, in size 
and in look very much like a spare 


ot Mac\{ anD 49 

foreleg, stuck in anywhere to be near. 
Her color was black above and a rich 
brown below, with two dots of tan 
above the eyes, which dots are among 
the deepest of the mysteries of Black 
and Tan. 

This strange little being I had known 
for some years, but had only possessed 
-about a month. She and her pup (a 
young lady called Smoot, which means 
smolt, a young salmon), were given 
me by . the widow of an honest and 
drunken — as much of the one as of the 
other — Edinburgh street-porter, a na- 
tive ofBadenoch, as a legacy from him. 
and a fee from her for my attendance 
on the poor man's death-bed. But my 
first sight of the Duchess was years 
before in Broughton Street, when I saw 
her sitting bolt upright, begging, im- 
ploring, with those little rough four 
leggies, and those yearning, beautiful 

eyes, all the world, or any one, to help 

Rab — i 


50 /iRgsterg of :©lacft anO Ctan. 


her master, who was lying ‘ ‘ mortal " 
in the kennel. I raised him, and with 
the help of a ragged Samaritan, who 
was only less drunk than he, I got 
Macpherson — he held from Glen Truim 
— home ; the excited doggie trotting 
off, and looking back eagerly to show 
us the way. I never again passed the 
Porters’ Stand without speaking to her. 
After Malcolm’s burial I took pos- 
session of her ; she escaped to the 
wretched house, but as her mistress 
was off to Kingussie, and the door 
shut, she gave a pitiful howl or two, 
and was forthwith back at my door, 
with an impatient, querulous bark. 
And so this is our second of the four ; 
and is she not deserving of as many 
names as any other Duchess, irom 
her of Medina-Sidonia downwards ? 

A fierier little soul never dwelt in 
a queerer or stancher body ; see her 
huddled up, and you would think her 


/Hb^stcrg ot ^Slacft auD ^an. 51 

a bundle of hair, or bit of old mossy 
wood, or a slice of heathery turf, with 
some red soil underneath ; but speak to 
her, or give her a cat to deal with, be 
it bigger than herself, and what an 
incarnation of affection, energy, and 
fury — what a fell unquenchable little 
ruffian. 

The Maid of Lorn was a chestnut 
mare, a broken-down racer, thorough- 
bred as Beeswing, but less fortunate in 
her life, and I fear not so happy occa‘ 
sione mortis : unlike the Duchess her 
body was greater and finer than her 
soul ; still she was a ladylike creature, 
sleek, slim, nervous, meek, willing, and 
fleet. She had been thrown down by 
some brutal half-drunk Forfarshire laird, 
when he put her wildly and with her 
wind gone, at the last hurdle on the 
North Inch at the Perth races. She was 
done for and bought for ten pounds by 
the landlord of the Drummond Arms, 


52 /abgBtcrig of JBlacft ano ^Tan. 

Crieff, who had been taking as much 
money out of her, and putting as little 
corn into her as was compatible with 
life, purposing to run her for the Conso- 
lation Stakes at Stirling. Poor young 
lady, she was a sad sight — broken 
in back, in knees, in character, and 
wind — in everything but temper, whicn 
was as sweet and all-enduring as 
Penelope’s or our own Enid’s. 

Of myself, the fourth, I decline mak* 
ing any account. Be it sufficient that 
I am the Dutchard’s master, and drove 
the gig. 

It was, as I said, a keen and bright 
morning, and the S. Q. N. feeling chilly, 
and the Duchess being away after a 
cat up a back entry, doing a chance 
stroke of business, and the mare look- 
ing only half breakfasted, I made them 
give her a full feed of meal and water 
and stood by and enjoyed her en- 
joyment. It seemed too good co be 


ot :JSlack anD ^Tan. 53 


true, and she looked up every now and 
then in the midst of her feast, with a 
mild wonder. Away she and I bowled 
down the sleeping village, all overrun 
with sunshine, the dumb idiot man and 
the birds alone up, for the ostler was off 
to his straw. There was the S. Q. N. 
and her small panting friend, who had 
lost the cat, but had got what philoso- 
phers say is better — the chase. ‘ ‘ Nous 
ne cherchons jamais les choses, mais la 
recherche des choses” says Pascal. 
The Duchess would substitute for les 
choses — les chats. Pursuit, not posses- 
sion, was her passion. We all got in, 
and off set the Maid, who was in ex- 
cellent heart, quite gay, pricking her 
ears and casting up her head, and rat- 
tling away at a great pace. 

We baited at St. Fillans, and again 
cheered the heart of the Maid with 
unaccustomed corn — the S. Q. N., 
Duchie, and myself, going up to the 


54 of JBlacft anD fran* 


beautiful rising' ground at the back of 
the inn, and lying on the fragrant 
heather looking at the Loch, with its 
'Tiild gleams and shadows, and its 
second heaven looking out from its 
depths, the wild, rough mountains 
of Glenartney towering opposite. 
Duchie, I believe, was engaged in 
minor business close at hand, and 
caught and ate several large flies and 
a humble-bee ; she was very fond of 
this small game. 

There is not in all Scotland, or as 
far as I have seen in all else, a more 
exquisite twelve miles of scenery than 
that between Crieff and the head of 
Locheam. Ochtertyre, and its woods 
Benchonzie, the head-quarters of the 
earthquakes, only lower than Benvor- 
lich-Strowan ; Lawers, with its grand 
old Scotch pines ; Comrie, with the 
wild Lednoch ; Dunira ; and St. Fil- 
lans, where we are now lying, and 


of JBlacft anD flan* 55 


i?/here the poor thoroughbred is tuck* 
ing in her corn. We start after two 
hours of dreaming in the half sun- 
light, and rumble ever and anon ove 
an earthquake, as the common foi. 
call these same hollow, resounding 
rifts in the rock beneath, and arriving 
at the old inn at Lochearnhead, have 
a iousie tea. In the evening, when the 
day was darkening into night, Duchie 
and I, — the S. Q. N. remaining to read 
and rest, — walked up Glen Ogle. It 
was then in its primeval state, the new 
road non-existent, and the old one 
staggering up and down and across 
that most original and Cyclopean 
valley, deep, threatening, savage, and 
yet beautiful — 

“ Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent 

As by a spirit turbulent ; 

Where sights were rough, and sounds werft 
wild, 

And everything unreconciled ; ” 


56 /llbS0teri2 of ^Slacft anO fTan* 


with flocks of mighty boulders, stray- 
ing all over it. Some far up, and 
frightful to look ac, others huddled 
down in the river, immane pecus, and 
one huge unloosened fellow, as big as 
a manse, up aloft watching them, like 
old Proteus with his calves, as if they 
had fled from the sea by stress of 
weather, and had been led by their 
ancient herd alfos visere monies — a 
wilder, more “unreconciled” place I 
know not ; and now that the darkness 
was being poured into it, those big 
fellows looked bigger, and hardly 
“ canny. ” 

Just as we were turning to come 
home — Duchie unwillingly, as she had 
much multifarious, and as usual fruit- 
less hunting to do — she and I were 
startled by seeing a dog in the side 
of the hill, where the soil had been 
broken. She barked and I stared; 
she trotted consequentially up and 


of :J8lac?i auD fTan. 57 


snuffed more cantno, and I went 
nearer : it never moved, and on coming 
quite close I saw as it were the image 
of a terrier, a something that made me 
think of an idea «;zrealized ; the rough, 
short, scrubby heather and dead grass, 
made a color and a coat just like those 
of a good Highland terrier — a sort of 
pepper and salt this one was — and 
below, the broken soil, in which there 
was some iron and clay, with old 
gnarled roots, for all the world like its 
odd, bandy, and sturdy legs. Duchie 
seemed not so easily unbeguiled as I 
was, and kept staring, and snuffing, 
and growling, but did not touch it, — 
seemed afraid. I left and looked 
again, and certainly it was very odd 
the growing resemblance to one of the 
indigenous, hairy, low-legged dogs, 
one sees all about the Highlands, 
terriers, or earthy ones. 

We came home, and told the S. Q. N. 


58 /BbBStcrs ct JBlacft anO Can, 

our joke. I dreamt of that vision- 
ary terrier, that son of the soil, all 
night; and in the very early morn- 
ing, leaving the S. Q. N. asleep, I 
walked up with the Duchess to the 
same spot. What a morning 1 it was 
before sunrise, at least before he had 
got above Benvorlich. The loch was 
lying in a faint mist, beautiful exceed- 
ingly, as if half veiled and asleep, 
the cataract of Edinample roaring less 
loudly than in the night, and the old 
castle of the Lords of Lochow, in the 
shadow of the hills, among its trees, 
might be seen 

“ Sole sitting by the shore of old romance.” 

There was still gloom in Glen Ogle, 
though the beams of the morning were 
shooting up into the broad fields of the 
sky. I was looking back and down, 
when I heard the Duchess bark sharply, 
and then give a cry of fear, and on 


ot JSlach anD ;ran. 59 

turning round, there was she with as 
much as she had of tail between her 
legs, where I never saw it before, and 
her small Grace, without noticing me 
or my cries, making down to the inn 
and her mistress, a hairy hurricane. I 
walked on to see what it was, and 
there in the same spot as last night, 
in the bank, was a real dog — no mis- 
take ; it was not, as the day before, a 
mere surface or spectrum, or ghost of 
a dog ; it was plainly round and sub- 
stantial ; it was much developed since 
eight p. M. As I looked, it moved 
slightly, and as it were by a sort of 
shiver, as if an electric shock (and why 
not ?) was being administered by a law 
of nature ; it had then no tail, or rather 
had an odd amorphous look in that 
region ; its eye, for it had one — it was 
seen in profile — looked to my profane 
vision like (why not actually ? ) a huge 
blaeberry {vaccimum Myriillus, it is well 


60 of :fiSIacft anO flan. 


to be scientific) black and full; and I 
thought, — but dare not be sure, and had 
no time or courage to be minute, — 
that where the nose should be, there 
was a small shining black snail, prob- 
ably the Umax niger of M. de Ferussac, 
curled up, and if you look at any dog’s 
nose you will be struck with the typi- 
cal resemblance, in the corrugations 
and moistness and jetty blackness of 
the one to the other, and of the other 
to the one. He was a strongly-built, 
wiry, bandy, and short-legged dog. 
As I was staring upon him, a beam — 
Oh, first creative beam ! — sent from 
the sun — 

“ Like as an arrow from a bow. 

Shot by an archer strong” — 

as he looked over Benvorlich’s shoulder, 
and piercing a cloudlet of mist which 
clung close to him, and filling it with 
whitest radiance, struck upon that eye 


/IBlgsterB of anD fTan. 61 

or berry and lit up that nose or snail ; 
in an instant he sneezed (the nisus 
{sneezusf) formativus of the ancients) ; 
that eye quivered and was quickened, 
and with a shudder — such as a horse 
executes with that curious muscle of 
the skin, of which we have a mere 
fragment in our neck, the Platysma 
Myoides, and which doubtless has been 
lessened as we lost our distance from 
the horse-type — which dislodged some 
dirt and stones and dead heather, and 
doubtless endless beetles, and, it may 
be, made some near weasel open his 
other eye, up went his tail, and out 
he came, lively, entire, consummate, 
warm, wagging his tail, I was going to 
say like a Christian, I mean like an ordi- 
nary dog. Then flashed upon me the 
solution of the Mystery of Black and 
Tan in all its varieties : the body, its up- 
per part gray or black oryellow accord- 
ing to the upper soil and herbs, heather. 


62 /IC>i20tcrs of :©lacft anD vTan* 

bent, moss, etc. ; the belly and feet 
red or tan or light fawn, according to 
the nature of the deep soil, be it ochrey, 
ferruginous, light clay, or comminuted 
mica slate. And wonderfullest of all, 
the Dots of Tan above the eyes — and 
who has not noticed and wondered as 
to the philosophy of them ? — I saw made 
by the two fore feet, wet and clayey, 
being put briskly up to his eyes as he 
sneezed that genetic, vivifying sneeze, 
and leaving their mark, forever. 

He took to me quite pleasantly, by 
virtue of “natural selection,” and has 
accompanied me thus far in our ‘ ‘ strug- 
gle for life,” and he, and the S. Q. N., 
and the Duchess, and the Maid, re- 
turned that day to Crieff, and were 
friends all our days. I was a little 
timid when he was crossing a burn 
lest he should wash away his feet, but 
he merely colored the water, and 
every day less and less, till in a fort- 


flblgstecis ot :©lacft anD c:an. 63 


night I could wash him without fear 
of his becoming a solution^ or fluid 
extract of dog, and thus resolving the 
mystery back into itself. 

The mare’s days were short. She 
won the Consolation Stakes at Stirling, 
and was found dead next morning in 
Gibb’s stables. The Duchess died in 
a good old age, as may be seen in the 
history of Our Dogs.” The S. Q. N., 
and the parthenogenesic earth-born, 
the Cespes Vivus — whom we some- 
times called Joshua, because he was 
the Son of None (Nun), and even 
Melchisedec has been whispered, but 
only that, and Fitz Memnon, as being 
as it were a son of the Sun, sometimes 
the Autochthon airdxdovos; (indeed, if 
the relation of the coup de soldi and 
the blaeberry had not been plainly 
causal and effectual, I might have 
called him Films Gunni, for at the 
very moment of that shudder, by 


64 /a^stcri^ or OBlacft anD rram 

which he leapt out of non-life 'into 
life, the Marquis’s gamekeeper fired 
his rifle up the hill, and brought down 
a stray young stag,) these two are 
happily with me still, and at this mo- 
ment she is out on the grass in a low 
easy-chair, reading Emilie Carlen’s 
Brilliant Marriage, and Dick is lying 
at her feet, watching, with cocked 
ears, some noise in the ripe wheat, 
possibly a chicken, for, poor fellow, 
he has a weakness for worrying hens, 
and such small deer, when there is a 
dearth of greater. If any, as is not 
unreasonable, doubt me and my story, 
they may come and see Dick. 1 
assure them he is well worth seeing. 


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